


Cursed

by mitsukurinidae



Category: Naruto
Genre: Child Abuse, Non Explicit, Other, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26352391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitsukurinidae/pseuds/mitsukurinidae
Summary: And so Shisui obeys, and bends, and breaks.
Relationships: Shimura Danzou/Uchiha Shisui, Uchiha Itachi/Uchiha Shisui
Comments: 5
Kudos: 55





	Cursed

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning for child sex abuse, manipulation and trauma, and underage sexual acts. It is non explicit but still inlcuded and a main focus of the story. Viewer discretion is severely advised. 
> 
> The purpose of this is to be extremely dark. Nothing written here was written with the purpose of being romanticized. 
> 
> Again, it is meant to be disturbing, so please proceed with caution.

Shisui has long been used to the unpleasantries of life. He got used to the wreckage of battle early on, got used to the sound of steel on steel, the smell of rotted blood, the choked, wet gargling of a slit throat, enemy or ally, it all starts to sound the same. He learned to cope and compartmentalize and  _ bear  _ it since he learned how to walk.

And so he gets used to Danzo, too, when he sets his claustrophobic gaze on him, gets used to the feeling of grimy hands slipping under his shirt, at first. He came to get used to the smell of his hot breath, passed through the cracks of rotting teeth, as Danzo kissed his skin. He learned to cope more and more as it got worse and worse, until he was able to stare one spot on the wall and let his mind slips through the sutures in his skull as his body rocked against Danzo’s rutting. Even the battle field was a preferred thought when Danzo pushed him to his knees and filled his throat.

The worst was when Danzo grabbed him by his hair and shoved two wrinkled fingers in his mouth, rubbing all the way down his tongue until he gagged, and Shisui’s eyes blew wide and his chest wrestled with a scream. He threw himself into his bathroom that night, scrambling to turn on the lights and scratching at his tongue in front of the mirror. He didn’t have that  _ god damned _ tattoo, and it was the only time he let himself break down and  _ sob _ , hunched over on the floor of his bathroom, head in his hands, curled up as tiny as he could get, as tiny as he felt, as stepped on and used and torn apart as he was made to be. Still, he got up, went to bed, and answered Danzo the next time he was summoned.

It made him feel dirty, rotten, ugly. Some days he looked down and expected to see his skin decayed and putrid, sloughing off the bone, because it felt as if it was. He became helpless, terrified— _ paralyzed _ , until his body and mind forgot how to do anything but obey like a dog.

It was worth it, though. It was so, so worth it, and Shisui would bear it for the rest of his life if he had to. Because one day, when Shisui wanted to  _ fight back _ , because he could, because he was strong and smart and had Kagami’s hot blood in his veins, Danzo pulled him aside and said, “You wouldn’t want this to befall that Itachi of yours, now would you?”

So, it was all worth it, because Danzo swore up and down and left and right and inside and out that he would never, ever touch Itachi, that he would never call Itachi like he does Shisui, and long as Shisui obeys and bends and breaks.

And so Shisui obeys, and bends, and breaks.

He bears it, and stuffs it, and fights the rattling in his chest to flee to his mom and cling to her and get  _ help _ , because he can’t. There’s too much to risk, not only Itachi and the last innocence he has left, but Danzo has Hiruzen wrapped around his finger, and the fate of their clan lies in  _ his _ decisions. Shisui knows this. Itachi knows this. Hiruzen knows this, too, and its all so fucked that part of Shisui realizes they’re just buying time at this rate.

Itachi is determined, though; Itachi believes in the good of the village, the good of even Danzo. He believes they can do it, believes they can stop the war and the uprising and the fallout in one swoop, as he has whispered to Shisui as he curled into his side one night,  _ we have Koto Amatsukami. _

The ‘we’ elates Shisui, reminds him that Itachi and him are inseparable, unbreakable together. They can do anything in the world they set their mind too, because Itachi is exceptional in every single way, and Shisui loves him like it is his sole purpose in life.

Itachi makes it okay, makes life worth living despite the horror show it has become. Itachi runs back to his arms, always, always, always, and when he buries his precious face against the base of Shisui’s neck when they cuddle, when he sighs against his chest as Shisui pets his hair, Shisui is reminded he will take on the world for him, and then some.

But now, here, Itachi is standing in front of him in the muddled light of candles, every inch of his body rigid with wariness. He’s still wearing his anbu uniform, and Shisui’s heart cannot help but fawn at how silly he looks, shoved into an adult’s outfit, how absurd the forearm guards look scaled down to that size.

He looks to Danzo. His stomach feels like it has collapsed on itself.

“No,” he says, the desperation clawing its way out of his mouth.  _ No, no no he said he—  _ “Not Itachi.” Shisui’s eyes cut to Itachi, who is carefully confused, then back to the decrepit old man, sitting wide-legged like he owns the world, and he wants more than anything to swirl his sharingan to life with red and black, but he is—paralyzed. “You said you would never touch him.”

“I am not going to touch him, Shisui,” Danzo says in his rotting old voice. “You are.”

Itachi is still, utterly still, breathing in the way he has mastered, so slow and careful that one could not tell he was alive if they weren’t paying attention. His eyes are frantic under the careful iron bars he keeps there, open only for Shisui.

Shisui is nauseous down to the marrow of his bones.

“No,” he says, feeling the room spin around Itachi’s face, Itachi who has done nothing but trust him, Itachi who he finally kissed just three weeks ago, when he was laid against Shisui’s shoulder and Shisui just leaned down and  _ kissed _ him, and Itachi smiled and nuzzled back into his arm and for the first time in Shisui’s life everything felt  _ alright _ with the world. “No.” His voice is stronger.

_ It wasn’t supposed to be like this _ .

He’s thought of it before—of course he has. Itachi is what makes his heart beat every day. Shisui doesn’t even see beauty anymore unless it is held by Itachi, all he wants is Itachi in every single way. He’s thought about it, years from now, when Itachi is older and ready for it.

Not like this.

Danzo bores his narrowed, hatched stare into him and Shisui feels paralyzed again, because Danzo has wound his way through his being, all fear and cowardice, like a vine twisting through a chain link fence, and every time Danzo touches him it punches a new hole for him to take root in. And now Itachi is here, in front of him, in the way of the danger he swore to himself and to his father’s grave that he would  _ never _ let befall him, and he isn’t even able to keep it from happening.

“It’s okay.” He isn’t expecting to hear Itachi’s voice. It jars him. Itachi has that gently determined expression on his face again, the one he gets during training sometimes, the one that Shisui is infinitely fond of. He looks at Shisui with his open, trusting eyes, reassuring him and speaking to him with gaze alone.  _ There is too much on the line _ , Shisui reads. He wonders if he can keep himself from puking.

“I can’t do that,” Shisui whispers. It isn’t to Itachi, or Danzo, or even himself.

“Do not test me,” Danzo says, voice grating.

He can’t test Danzo. He can’t test him because Danzo will crush the last thread of tolerance between the Leaf and the Uchiha. He can’t test Danzo because Danzo already owns him in body and soul.

“My promise was only constituent on you doing what I asked, Shisui.” Danzo has his hands folded on the top of his cane. “But I can break it at any time. You swore you would protect Itachi from that, didn’t you?”

Shisui is paralyzed.

“Shisui,” Itachi says again, giving him a sharp look. Shisui knows they are thinking the same things. They can’t disobey Danzo, not if they want their clan to have a chance.

Shisui doubly cannot disobey Danzo, because he cannot let Itachi be hurt by him in that way.

Shisui tries to narrow his attention and focus down to Itachi alone, blocking out Danzo, pretending he doesn’t exist. Itachi is the sole thing that matters to him. Itachi will always be the only thing that matters, more than the clan or Konoha—it all comes down to  _ Itachi _ .

“It will be okay,” he says, low enough that they can have the illusion that only they hear it, even though Shisui is sure that Danzo is eaves dropping. “I won’t hurt you, okay?”

Itachi gives him one barely perceptible nod.

Shisui’s hands are faintly trembling as he reaches forward to cup Itachi’s soft face, his hair brushing over his knuckles. “I’m so sorry.” It’s a whisper and it’s a choke, and Shisui wants to kiss Itachi so bad. He doesn’t know if that will make it better or worse. He will never forgive himself for not being able to get Itachi out of this situation, for not being able to protect Itachi from what has broken Shisui so badly. It has been too long since he’s been able to do anything but bend to Danzo’s corrupt will.

“Don’t think about it,” Itachi replies. “It’s okay, Shisui. I understand.”

Shisui lets out a little breath, running his hand down Itachi’s neck, and he wants—

“I told you not to test me, Shisui.”

He freezes.

“Undress before I become impatient.”

Shisui takes a step back, obeying; at least this part is easy, at least he is used to this. He isn’t embarrassed by undressing anymore. He pulls his high collared shirt over his head, drops his mesh armor to the floor before grabbing the waist band of his pants. Itachi is staring at him with wide eyes, clearly in distress for his sake.

Shisui thinks  _ don’t be. I’ve done this so many times, don’t worry about me. _ He knows Itachi has probably figured that out, genius that he is. His stomach sinks a bit at the thought—Itachi admires him and looks up to him, and Shisui doesn’t want him to know and see all of his shame and brokenness.

He’s nude now, and the room is spinning with the horror in his mind. He can’t do this, every part of him tells himself that he can’t do this—

And yet he can’t escape.

Shisui takes a step forward, reaches for Itachi, only has it in himself to touch the forearm guards.

“Get on your knees,” he whispers, “and turn around. It will be easiest that way.”

Itachi nods, going to follow Shisui’s directions until—

“No.” Danzo has lit his pipe, now, and puffs it once. “I want you to look at his face, Shisui.”

Shisui wonders, not for the first time, what he has done to deserve being beat down like this. If he opens his mouth he will wretch, and so he doesn’t respond, instead sinking to his knees. Eventually, gaze fixed on a knot in the floor boards, he says, “Lay on your back, Itachi.”

Itachi quietly gets on the ground. Shisui crawls over to him and spreads his legs so he can kneel in between them. His fingers are still trembling.

Something clatters to his right, and he looks over to see a small glass vial.

Part of him scathes, but the majority of him is relieved—it will be much easier to keep Itachi from getting hurt with this. He grabs it and sets it next to him before leaning over Itachi.

He looks small.

Shisui wants to cry.

His fingers go to Itachi’s pants button.

_ It wasn’t supposed to be like this _ .

He doesn’t undress Itachi all the way like he is, just pulls his clothes down to his knees.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promises again, fingers wet with some of the oil. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I know,” Itachi whispers back. “I trust you.”

Shisui wishes he was fucking dead.

He doesn’t actually know if Itachi is in pain or not, because Itachi has the tolerance of the soldier he is, and has long since learned not to react to anything unpleasant. Eventually Shisui is hit with the horror that—that he has to be able to actually perform, since that is what Danzo wants, that he has to be able to—

As if reading his mind, Danzo says, “If you cannot get yourself ready, Itachi can help you, I’m sure.”

“ _ No _ ,” Shisui snaps, the word unasked for and feral.

Itachi shifts. Quieter than Shisui has ever heard him speak, he says, “I can help, Shisui.”

“No,” Shisui says again, gently this time, and he leans his head down to press his cheek to the top of Itachi’s knee. “No, Itachi, sweetheart. Don’t worry about me. Don’t worry about anything.”

He uses his hand, grinds his forehead against Itachi’s kneecap. “I’m so, so sorry, Itachi.”

Shisui knows now what it means to truly hate yourself down to the bone marrow, down to the root of your own soul. He hates himself more than anything else in the world, more than he even thought it was possible to hate something, because his body is  _ responding,  _ because it feels good, and Shisui knows Itachi is in hell right now and he has the audacity to feel  _ good  _ as he looms over him.

He wants to die, he wants to sink into the ground and drown in the soil. The worst part of it all is when he opens his eyes and see Itachi staring blankly at one spot on the wall like Shisui learned to do.

“Finish.” The command comes to him like acid in his blood, and he cringes away from the noise. His eyes screw shut as tight as they can—he can’t bear to look at Itachi, he would rather drop dead than look at him.

He won’t disobey, though. He can’t disobey, and he hates him self even more, somehow, at how easy it is for his body to obey, too.

He grits his teeth, face pinched and his breath catches. His right hand claws against the ground and he huffs one breath. His eyes back up. He looks down at Itachi, desperate.

It is the only time he has seen Itachi look at him with fear.

He just barely manages to lurch to the side before he vomits, scrambling away from Itachi and hurling up a stomach of nothing. His stomach convulses again and again, but nothing else can come back up, yellow bile foaming and dripping as it slips down his mouth and chin.

Itachi adjusts his clothes silently and sits up, pulling his shirt down so it covers the hem of his pants. “Is that all?” His voice is stony and smooth, the way it always is.

Shisui still can’t look at him.

“Yes, Itachi, that’s all. Good job.”

Itachi nods to Danzo once and stands. He doesn’t say anything to Shisui before disappearing from the room.

Danzo looks at Shisui with disdain. “You should be thanking me, Shisui,” he says. “I know the way you look at him. I did you a favor, didn’t I?”

Shisui is more effectively gutted than if Danzo had used a knife. He says nothing.

Danzo scoffs and puffs his pipe. “Ungrateful. I kept my promise; I didn’t touch him, even though you were resistant and defiant.”

Shisui is relieved despite himself. The incomprehensible reality of Danzo touching Itachi is at war in his belly with the knowledge that Shisui filled that role.

“You’re too attached to him,” Danzo criticizes. “You’re attached to him like he’s attached to that brat brother of his. It’s the downfall of both of you and neither of you are willing to see it.”

Shisui does not move.

“You Uchiha,” the word is laced with disrespect, “are all such over emotional, self-destructive creatures. You fixate on each other like warts on pigs, you destroy each other and yourselves. You don’t deserve to wield your own power.”

“We’re not just sharingan,” Shisui whispers; it’s only reflex, something in him trying to claw its way up his chest so he doesn’t completely drown on the inside, a bug twitching after being stamped on, and he feels completely empty, and all he wants to do is run to Itachi and take him in his arms, smother his hair in kisses and comfort and tell him  _ it’s okay, it’s going to be okay, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry I love you so much I’m so sorry are you okay I’m so sorry— _

“No, you’re not just sharingan,” Danzo affirms, puffing his pipe. “You, Shisui, are going to be the final thing to break that cursed child.”

Shisui cannot move, and he thinks it would hurt less if he was physically nailed to the worn wooden floor boards he kneels on.

“The two of you thought you could outsmart me with your childish games. I’ve known the two of you would be a nuisance from day one; I thought I could take care of you alone, that you would grow to resent him after throwing yourself on your own sword for him again and again.” He taps his pipe against a plain clay tray. “You didn’t, though; you Uchiha aren’t so sensible. You kept protecting him, and he always runs back to your arms; he’s found solace in you, and it’s made him stronger. You’ve found reason in him, and it’s made you…durable.” He contemplates for a moment. “That hasn’t made my life easy, Shisui.”

Shisui stares at him, still on his knees, not bothering to dress because there is nothing left on earth this man can take from him.

“Tell me, Shisui,” Danzo’s lip curls, eyes narrowed in a smirk when he says, “do you think Itachi will be running back to your arms anytime soon?”

Shisui vomits twice more when he’s back outside, dressed now but feeling more stripped to the bone than he ever has been before. He stumbles along the street, his heart pulling him through the compound and to Itachi’s house like a compass. The word desperate means something new for him, now, and by the time Itachi’s house is in view he can’t feel his legs or his heart.

He’s never had to fight so hard to not cry.

He composes himself as much as he can, turning the corner and sneaking silently through the rock garden that borders the side of the house where Itachi’s room is.

Itachi and Sasuke are sitting on the edge of the deck. Itachi is smiling at him, squinty eyed, and tousling his hair. When he hears Shisui he looks over, and his smile fades.

Shisui’s stomach drops.

“Itachi,” he says, and his voice sounds like gravel scraping across pavement. “Itachi can I talk to you, please?”

Itachi hesitates.

“Boo,” Sasuke says, wrinkling his nose. “Go away, Shisui, stop stealing Nii-san all the time.”

Shisui musters a hollow smile. “Ah, just for a moment, Sasuke-kun. What are you doing awake at this hour, anyways?”

“Sasuke was sneaking a midnight snack, wasn’t he?” Itachi tousles his hair again and Sasuke giggles. “Go on, Sasuke, I’ll come tuck you back into bed in just a moment.”

Sasuke grumbles, making sure to send Shisui another glare, and gets to his feet.

When Sasuke is out of view, Shisui takes a step for Itachi. “Itachi—”

“Don’t stress yourself, Shisui,” Itachi cuts off. “I understand. It was not your choice, nor was it in your control. I’m not upset with you.”

Shisui stumbles forward anyways, dropping to his knees in front of him, because Itachi’s words don’t match his eyes, his eyes which used to be an open book for Shisui alone and are now closed off and guarded and—

“Itachi please,” he gasps, pressing his forehead against the wood of the deck, eyes squeezed shut. “Itachi I’m so sorry—”

He feels Itachi’s fingers run through his hair. “Shisui. I forgive you. Nothing that happened was your fault. Please, we both should just get some rest tonight.”

Shisui trembles. All he wants is to beg Itachi to let him stay the night, but he knows he can’t ask that. He straightens, trying to compose himself again, and looks up at Itachi’s face. “I love you,” he breathes, “more than anything.”

He doesn’t wait for Itachi’s response. The possibility of not getting one is unthinkable, unbearable—so he shunshins away immediately.

For the second time, he lets himself cry that night.

He waits two days before he comes for Itachi again. He tries to act normal—maybe that’s what they need, to just pretend that it never happened to begin with. Maybe that will fix things. He catches Itachi outside of a dumpling shop one afternoon.

“Itachi!” He shouts, and grins at him.

When Itachi turns to him, he is not smiling.

“Hey,” Shisui says, trying to be cheerful, “there you are.”

“Here I am,” Itachi replies, and while the response fits in with their normal banter, Itachi’s voice is detached, and his eyes are closed off.

Shisui’s heart sinks to his feet.

“Do you have a moment? Let’s get dumplings and dango and snack by the river, yeah?”

Itachi regards him for a moment before shaking his head. “Sorry, Shisui, I’m busy today.”

Shisui knows it’s a lie. “You sure? Dango on me,” he adds with a wink.

Itachi smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure, but thank you.”

“Ah, alright then.” Shisui is numb. “See ya around, then.”

He doesn’t see Itachi around, not outside of meetings with the Hokage or the clan. Even then, instead of sitting in the back with him like he used to, Itachi sits at the front where the future clan head is supposed to sit.

He doesn’t come to Shisui’s apartment anymore. He doesn’t send Shisui crows anymore with notes attached to the feet. He doesn’t linger for him after meetings, or seek him out before. Their interactions are cordial.

For all intents and purposes, Shisui’s heart has stopped beating.

He doesn’t blame Itachi, not for a second. Itachi has every right to shy away from him, to hate him, Itachi has every reason under the sun to not want to be near him anymore. Shisui will take it, and live with it, and stay away from Itachi because he  _ knows _ the type of pain that he caused him.

Danzo was right; Danzo got his way. He did the only thing Shisui was sure no one could ever do, which was rip Itachi and Shisui apart, which was corrupt the love that Shisui had for him.

By the time Danzo decides he is truly done with Shisui, he has lost his will to live, and Danzo easily plucks his eye from his skull. He was going to cast a genjutsu on the entire clan, was going to sort things out on his own so Itachi could stop suffering; he should have known that it was futile, the Danzo was not going to let the Uchiha make it out alive. Part of him probably did know, but Shisui would never stop fighting for Itachi, even as he was ripped limb from limb.

He escapes before Danzo gets the second one, but it doesn’t really matter, because Shisui can feel a dull burning as his dead heart pushes blood through him. He finds a bug stuck in the seam of his flack vest, and holds it between his fingers. It’s an Aburame’s. If he leaves now for the hospital, he can give it to a medic and they can pull the antidote, since the poison should be on file if it is Konoha made. If he leaves now, he won’t die from it.

He remembers that Itachi will barely look at him anymore, remembers that it has been weeks since Itachi has reached for him for comfort of companionship. He knows, with irrefutable truth, that Itachi will never open up to him again.

So he squishes the bug between his fingers.

He won’t leave Itachi with anymore of a mess, so he teleports back to his house to scribble out a suicide note. He’s on his way to the Nakano cliff tops when his heart stutters, choked by the poison, and he stumbles against a tree. It’s then that Itachi finds him.

“I thought you had a mission?” Shisui asks, dazed by the pain and the poison and the beauty of Itachi’s face.

“Something felt off,” Itachi murmurs back, gaze locked on Shisui’s hand that covers his empty, gushing eye socket. “It felt like you needed help, so I returned.”

Itachi’s eyes are, for the first time in so many weeks, completely unguarded, and all Shisui can see is worry, horror, and love for Shisui.

He’s reminded, in the last few minutes of his life, that all of this was worth it to be able to be loved by him.

He teleports to the cliffs, knowing Itachi will follow. He gives Itachi his second eye before Itachi can question him, tells him to take care of the clan, tells him that he is proud of him and trusts him.

Itachi is in shock; Shisui can sense that, and he is sure it’s the only reason why Itachi isn’t protesting more. Itachi doesn’t realize what is happening, and he feels selfish for taking the easy way out. He takes a step back toward the cliff’s edge, and something in Itachi’s brain finally clicks into place.

“Wait, Shisui, no—!”

Shisui takes another step back.

He feels the wind push up against his back, fill his ears and drown out Itachi’s desperate cry of his name. He’s airborne, falling, falling, falling—

Only now, only because there can be no more consequences, does he let himself think of what could have been, of a life where Shisui spent his evening with Itachi nested against his side, a reality where Itachi came to his arms again and again and nothing broke them apart, of a future that wasn’t corrupted by his own hands.

_ It wasn’t supposed to be like this _ . 

And then he hits the water. 

  



End file.
